


shutout.

by Author_Authenticated



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27751963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_Authenticated/pseuds/Author_Authenticated
Summary: THIS ISNT REALLY A FIC THIS WAS JUST ME COPING POETICALLY IN MY FRIENDS DM AFTER HEARING SHUTOUT FOR THE FIRST TIME. GOD BLESS. STREAM SHUTOUT ON BANDCAMP
Relationships: Tillman Henderson/Declan Suzanne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	shutout.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peaksykid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaksykid/gifts).



declan doesn't even get the pleasure of knowing if he's okay or not— he knows that tillman was resurrected but thats about it, he doesn't know if he's still the same or if he came back wrong like jaylen did, he never really _had_ tillman in the first place, since the nature of their relationship is so fast and loose and laced with repression and a bit of self loathing. but the fact is that declan has no idea if tilly is okay or not. he thinks maybe at first maybe tillman is just going through some shit, that he needs space, and that makes sense to him because hey he fucking _died_ the least dec could do is let him process that and take his time with it even though tillman really never takes his time for _anything._ but as the days go on and on and the games stretch on and on he's running out of reasons to excuse the silence— and he comes to the conclusion that it's his fault, of course, it must be! tillman is always fucking something up or being stupid or being an asshole and this time is no different. he never cared about anyone but himself, and declan knows he's stupid to ever have thought that he mattered to tillman. in the end, it doesn't matter. _hes a pitcher and im just a batter— he doesnt care. why would he? hes got a new team and new friends and no room for me, he's moving on and moving through it without me, and it doesnt matter that i wanted to comfort him when he was down, to hold his hand when it shakes, to brush his stupid unruly greasy hair out of his face and supress the urge to kiss his shiteating grin_

but it doesnt matter. he won't call or talk at all, and declan has never been a man of pride before, but it's like waving his hands through flames when he picks up the phone. it's been a month and he's getting desperate, staying up late on the roof of the firehouse with his phone in his hand and pain in his heart. it's brutal, up there, with the wind cutting through his hair and it's freezing him to the bone, but it doesn't matter. his windchill stiff fingers curl around his phone and he stares at the screen staring back at him. the only warmth he has in his chest as he scrolls through texts of better times and pretends that the wind rushing past his ears are the waves of the bay. he misses him more than anything in the world. he hates it here without him, would do anything to get him back, but he hates himself for just the sentiment. he should be stronger than this, shouldn't he? he's a firefighter, for christ's sake. he's from _chicago._ he's lived through season after season fighting fires and playing the hardest ball he possibly could, and some shitty dead pitcher has got him down like _this?_ he bites his tongue and pretends he doesn't taste blood. he stares into the smoke on the horizon and the way the orange of the flames below sets the sky alight, and pretends he doesn't love the color orange and its lovely, dingy hue. he should forget his fondness for it, really, but supposes he doesn't have to trade it in for electric blues and ecstatic yellows.

he falls into habits he never thought he'd have before. he keeps his ringer on and a custom vibration, just in case, and doesn't think of it as a false hope. he picks up his phone and something heavy falls over his heart. he picks up his phone and something heavy falls over his heart. he picks up his phone and something heavy falls over his heart. he should have known better. he's an unlocked door, and tillman is a fucking thief. he didn't even give him a goodbye, and declan hates him for that more than anything. he always knew tillman was selfish, but he didn't think that he'd steal his closure from him, too. he stole his heart and his chance to say goodbye, and he wants to cry about it, but he can't. he guesses it's time for him to give up—fist of pure emotions as it curls around his phone that he checks every five minutes like he's a millenial, head of shattered dreams and memories of better times. he wants so badly to hate tillman henderson. he wishes he could— it's so easy for everyone else, why isn't it for him? he hates tillman henderson. but he doesn't really mean it. whatever he said, whatever he did, he could never meant it. he just wants him back for good. he wants to be right and understood. he wants to get back to normal, but he doesn't even know if he _can_ get normal after this. they say the sadness does that to you, you know? but he's shut out.


End file.
